Mercenary
by StarSteller
Summary: On Halloween, 1973, Lily Evans and her friends are captured by Voldemort, broken, and made to serve as Voldemort's mercenaries. Now, nearly two years later, they are recaptured by Dumbledore. Can James help heal the love of his life? JPLE AU. Revised
1. Prologue Pt1: The Letter: Lily

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit.

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**Mercenary**

By starsteller

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Once, she had been a good girl. Once, she had a mother, to tuck her into bed, to whisper sweet nothings and wonderful stories into her ear as the safe warmth carried her off to sleep. Once, she had a father, to kiss her on the cheek, turn off the light, and whisper "sweet dreams" as he eased the door to her room, her sanctuary, shut. Once, she had a family.

Not anymore.

Now, she had nothing but a sorry, straw-filled excuse for a mattress and the thinnest, scratchiest wool blanket, which managed to be both too hot during summer and too cold during winter. And two sets of threadbare, patched robes that she had spent hours sewing and resewing, attempting to convince the cotton to provide more of a barrier against the chilly wind pouring down from the mountains. And the Watchers, the cold witches and wizards, led by a girl she had once considered a friend...the Watchers, who were always there, with their eyes of death and souls of ice...their words of pain and songs of despair…

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"Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned, forgive, and ye shall be forgiven."

~Luke 6:37~

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**Prologue: The Letter**

**Part 1: Lily**

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* * *

**

_Late February, 1975._

Immediately after she did it, Lily knew it was a stupid idea.

She didn't even have a way to send the letter. Not when she had no clue where the hell she was, or where the hell the tower was, either. She didn't even know what country it was located in. And even if she knew where she was, it wasn't like she could find postal service. Or owl service. Or even a fireplace connected to the Floo network.

She hadn't really considered any of this—she didn't really think at all, to be honest—when she swiped a single sheet of parchment from the stack Morthia had helpfully abandoned on the desk. Twenty minutes later, when Morthia retrieved the stack of parchment and laboriously counted each sheet, Lily held her breath, waiting for the onset of pain. They weren't supposed to have parchment, and the Watchers punished each transgression seriously. But apparently the Watcher was too scatterbrained to count properly, as she failed to notice the missing sheet.

And now the missing parchment lay on the desk again, along with a quill and a half-full bottle of ink. Her friends were asleep, and for the first time in months, the Watchers weren't around, leaving Lily to stare at the blank parchment.

She didn't know what to write. _Hey, how's life, oh-by-the-way-we-aren't-dead? Long time, no see, eh? Did you get a haircut? Oh, no, I have absolutely no clue what's going on; nor do I know who's a Death Eater and who isn't. Or who's under the Imperius Curse. No, I really have no clue what Voldy is up to. My day? Excellent, except for a certain-half dozen witches and wizards charged with making my life hell._

Lily knew she was blabbering in her mind; she rested her forearm against the cool wooden surface of the desk and her forehead on her forearm, breathed deeply, sat up again, dipped her quill in the ink and placed it against the parchment.

_Dear…_

She didn't even know whom to address the letter to. Dumbledore? McGonagall? Definitely not Slughorn. Not Tuny, either. It was kind of sad, she thought, that she couldn't even find _one_ more person to address…or not address…this hopeless stupid letter too.

She scratched out the heading, rewrote it, scratched it out again, and finally wrote a generic heading: _Dear whomever it may concern_, before using her wand to remove the scratched-out words and move the heading to the top. She wasn't going to risk stealing _another _sheet of parchment. Morthia generally wasn't loopy enough to fail to count to twenty properly. The Watchers wouldn't be happy that she had a single sheet of parchment, anyway. Two would risk too much.

Now what?

The first few months, there had been a million things she wanted to tell Hogwarts. A detailed description of the tower, of the Death Eaters, of the small bit of the hierarchy they had let her see…all of that had faded as time went by, as winter melted into spring which metamorphosed into a summer falling into autumn which froze into yet another winter…winter with its arctic winds colder than even a Watcher's eyes….The warning flashed through her mind, and she knew why she risked her life to steal the parchment.

They must be warned.

_If you see Syvanna Lawson, capture her. If that's not possible, kill her on the spot._

Syvanna Morthia, née Lawson. Historically, the first Gryffindor in nearly a hundred years to turn to the Dark Arts. And, in Lily's mind, one of the top three Darkest humans alive today, the other two being Bellatrix Lestrange and Lord Voldemort. A psychopath, probably. Possibly a sadist. Why else would a fifteen-year-old girl join the Watchers, whose sole mission was to steal the lives and innocence of youngsters?

It seemed strange to Lily that only two years ago, she would have considered Morthia a friend of sorts. Now, she could barely remember the girl the Watcher once was. The bookish and withdrawn Lawson didn't make friends easily, and it had taken Lily nearly a year to coax the other girl out of her library-class-library-meals-library-sleep-library routine. Only, of course, to writhe under the Cruciatus Curses cast by the Lawson…no, _Morthia_…two years later. Some "friend".

_She is deep within Voldemort's inner circle…_

They didn't actually call themselves the "Watchers". It really was a stupid nickname, but it fit, since typically there were at least one of them around, watching to make sure Lily and her friends didn't try to escape. Five Death Eaters and their underaged leader, who shared a singular lack of empathy and innocence, and a sadistic streak a mile deep. They were given only one order from the Dark Lord: to make sure Lily Evans, Alice Prewett, Dorcas Meadows, and Marlene McKinnon didn't escape. And to break them down, tear apart their morals and their spirit, destroy their _minds_. All to turn them into the perfect little Death Eaters Lord Voldemort wanted…

Lily suddenly felt tired. An ache began to throb behind her eyeballs. She wanted to go to sleep badly but her eyelids had yet to develop that sandpapery feeling, so she couldn't sleep yet. Sleeping now would mean nightmares. Nightmares might lead to screaming, which would definitely lead to the Watchers dragging her away from sleep, with the only method they knew: pain. Pain so penetrating and _dark _that Lily didn't know what she preferred; the pain, or the nightmares? Pushing her thoughts away, Lily quickly attached the letter to the underside of the desk with a small sticking charm and put away the quill and ink, before standing up and walking towards one of the tower's few windows.

Below, she could see the complex Lord Voldemort had erected God-knows-where. Seven towers shaped like talons gripping the sky, six on the perimeter and one dead center. She knew the Dark Lord lived in center tower. She was kept in one of the perimeter towers—one of the windows even looked out to the mountains surrounding the complex. Escape, however, wasn't possible. The perimeter towers were connected by walls at least twenty feet tall, and the windows were reinforced with a charm Lily had yet to break. The entire complex was Apparation-proofed, and the fireplaces were connected to what appeared to be a separate Floo network, set up and used only by the Death Eaters. The fireplace in this tower was connected to no network. There were few buildings between the towers; few places to hide or dodge from the Death Eaters in the towers. The complex was well built to resist an attack by ground; Lily was sure that it was equally well equipped to resist an attack by air.

It was nearly full moon. The moonlight illuminated the courtyard below the window. It was generally deserted by this time of night, but tonight, two dark figures occupied it, their cloaks fluttering in the arctic wind. One figure appeared to be considerably taller than the other, but from the way the shorter moved, it was obvious it was on its knees. Lily watched the shorter remove its cloak, fold it and kneel upon it, before bending forward and removing its shirt. Moonlight reflected off of the unnaturally pale back of the figure as it bent its head forward, brushing its unevenly cut hair over its shoulders.

Lily instinctively turned away before she heard the soft _crack _of the whip. Out of sight, out of mind, and perhaps it didn't happen.

She returned to the desk and unstuck the letter, running her fingers over the parchment before leaning in to sniff it slightly. This piece didn't have that fresh-parchment smell, that smell that reminded Lily of the quiet peace of the library. The quiet timelessness, where wars and celebrations, inquisitions and discoveries were reduced to penstrokes on parchment...where both evil and good were nothing but statistics rendered carefully with black ink and gold filigree. A single death was a tragedy, a million deaths a statistic, as the saying went. In the library, there was no uncertainty. People lived and died, civilizations rose and fell, but there was no _maybe_. The decisions had already been made, consequences already obvious. There was no _maybe_.

Irregular footsteps on the stairs outside. Lily hastily stuck the parchment back under the desk and slammed the quill and bottle of ink back in the drawer with more force that necessary. The door clicked open as Lily tried to rearrange her features into something resembling a tired innocence.

Despite the Watcher's even footsteps and carefully upright posture, Lily could tell Morthia remained upright on willpower alone. Her left boot left bloodstains on the stone floor, and Lily knew it was likely that she would be scrubbing them away tomorrow. Morthia walked over to the desk and leaned on it in a way that seemed casual, but really kept the Watcher from falling over. "It's three in the morning," she snapped. "Why the hell aren't you asleep?"

"You're up."

"I'm only up because the Dark Lord is seriously pissed at me at the moment." Morthia pulled a set of keys out of her back pocket and fumbled with them for a minute before inserting one into a locked desk drawer. "Get to sleep."

"No." Lily didn't know why she picked tonight to argue with the Watcher. Perhaps the incident with the parchment had given her undue courage. Still, she cringed when she saw Morthia reaching for her wand.

"What's your excuse?" the Watcher asked, replacing her wand in her sleeve holster.

"What?" Slightly surprised that she hadn't gotten hexed over her insubordination, Lily ran her fingers around the borders of the parchment stuck to the bottom of the desk. If the Watchers found out about the letter, she knew she would be dead, but she couldn't help reassuring herself that it, her only lifeline to the outside world, was still there.

"What's your excuse for being up so late?" Morthia opened the drawer and started searching through it. "Oh, and by the way, go to sleep," she ordered, removing a small Bible from the drawer.

Lily could feel her eyes widen slightly. She hoped her mouth wasn't gaping open; if it was, she was in for another session of pain, courtesy of the Watchers. For some reason, she never thought that Morthia could be _religious_. "Nightmares," she admitted, hoping the Watcher would leave her alone if she told the truth.

Morthia stared at the door leading to the staircase for a moment, opening her mouth and then closing it, before finally shaking her head slightly and speaking. "Go to sleep," she ordered again.

"No."

Lily watched the Watcher glare at the staircase before slamming open the Bible and extracting a small vial from it. Figures. The Watcher probably felt that hiding something in a cut-up Bible was ironic. "What's that?" Lily asked.

Morthia stared at her for a while before speaking. "Not an opiate. Not a painkiller either," she said, shaking a few pills into her palm. She tipped two back into the vial and dry-swallowed the third before replacing the vial in its hiding spot and locking the drawer. "Not a word to anyone, especially not Voldemort. 'Cause he'll _kill_ me," she smirked, before walking quickly to the stairwell and slamming the door shut behind her.

Lily stared at the door for a while. She unstuck the letter and read through it again, running the fingers of her right hand across the edge of the parchment. For the first time in months, she saw a glimmer of hope.

* * *

_Psychopaths are "intraspecies predators who use charisma, manipulation, intimidation, sexual intercourse and violence to control others and to satisfy their own needs. Lacking in conscience and empathy, they take what they want and do as they please, violating social norms and expectations without guilt or remorse." _

~Robert D. Hare, Researcher of Criminal Psychology. _Psychopaths: New Trends in Research._ The Harvard Mental Health Letter, September 1995~

* * *

_It was the same old dream._

_The same old nightmare._

_It began in another dream—it always began that way. Always with happier days, better days. This time, the trip to Paris she had made with her family, when she was eleven or twelve. The gorgeous weather, all blue sky and warm yellow sun. Ancient buildings, the Louvre? Yeah, she can see that infamous glass pyramid, a jewel rising from the ground, refracting the light from the glorious sun..._

_She remembered Tuny, beside her. They were skipping, laughing, running, shrieking. Happy. Maybe. Lily knew that by this time, Tuny had already begun to resent Lily and everything about the magical world, out of jealousy. Tuny wouldn't truly, deeply hate Lily for a while still._

_They entered the glass pyramid, Lily and Tuny, alone. Lily couldn't remember where her parents went off to, although they should have been there. She felt a cold breeze whip through her hair, sting her eyes. Escalator ride down, the bright sunlight fading. The air felt chalkier and more bitter the further they descended. God, was the escalator really this long? The world so dark?_

_Long corridors with light at the end. Lily felt herself moving through one of the corridors, feeling like she was floating, almost, moving along with the minimum of effort. She heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own, whispering "Don't head towards the light..." but she could't stop herself. It felt like the Earth had tilted and she was falling, now, down the corridor, but slowly, drifting towards the light at the end of the hall. She realized Tuny was no longer beside her. "Òu es-tu, Tuny?" she tried to scream, but it came out as a broken whisper. Where are you, Tuny?_

_She wasn't in control, no, some force pulled her further and further towards the light. She felt her feet moving along the ground, and strangely she felt herself rising upwards as she got closer to the light. Floating, almost. She got closer and closer, the light growing to claim her visual field. A blink, another blink, and suddenly, she found herself back on the ground floor, sunlight pouring through windows, Tuny laughing next to her. The air felt like hospital air, all sterile and clean and impersonal. Ancient architecture, beautiful paintings, peace and tranquillity in delicate oils, art capturing the heart perfectly. She and Tuny were alone, here, in the most famous art building in the world. Lily heard the delicate notes of a cello, echoing slightly through the still building. She followed the sound, drawn to it like a moth to a candle._

_The music darkened as Lily rounded the corner. A delicate melody taking on a lethal edge. Tuny wasn't beside her. Nor behind her. She was gone, again. Missing, again. Lily felt her heart beat faster. Fight or flight response. Adrenaline in her veins. She was walking faster now, now running, her feet desperately pulling herself towards the music, but it was fading away, pulling further. She rounded another corner, noted a small splatter of blood. A bloody footprint—she had seen those before, both in dream-world and reality, way too many times. Cold, cold, cold. A whisper of insane laughter, Bellatrix. "Don't head towards the light," she whispered, again, her heart sinking. The corridor was long and dark; she raced down it, following the ghost of the music. It was undeniably dark, now, cruel and sorrowful and filled with an unexplainable pain._

_A turn, a flight of stairs upwards, more blood now, flowing down the steps. Lily nearly lost her footing once, twice. A cold laughter, not Bellatrix. It wasn't insane or bitter, it was just cold, emotionless, almost forced. Lily was at the top of the steps, she was wearing her Hogwarts robes, torn and shredded and soaked to the knees with blood._

_Tuny, her eyes dead and lifeless in their disbelief. Her white nightgown was not splattered with the blood that flowed around her. She looked pale and almost angelic, like Venus de Milo. almost. Cold, cold marble. Tuny blinked, once, and her eyes lit up with rage, righteous anger. Lily remembered the last time she had seen her sister. That same rage, that same anger that was both so dark but yet so justified._

_A delicate line of blood tricked down from Tuny's neck. There was a knife there, now, bright and sharp, held by a slender hand at the end of a long black sleeve. The hand drew the knife delicately across Tuny's neck, severing the carotid artery. The cello music hummed. Blood, more blood, gushed out of Tuny's wound, each systolic beat causing a new wave of blood to slop out, dripping down her slender frame, staining white fabric mahogany. Mahogany? Tuny smiled slightly, a smile of cold anger and revenge. Her form wavered; a pair of S-shaped black marks appeared on her skirt. Wind picked up Tuny's long blonde hair, whipping it around her frame, hiding Tuny's accusatory eyes. The hum of a cello; the knife was no longer a knife, but a bow. The same haunting melody. Tuny's hair faded away, and suddenly Lily realized that her sister wasn't standing in front of her any more. In her place, a cello, played by Tuny's murderer. _

"_You're just as guilty as me," the murderer whispered. She had red eyes, eyes the color of the jewel Lily instinctively hated. That teardrop-shaped gemstone, set in white gold, that vortex of evil._

"_Don't wake up! Don't come back! Go through the curtain!" Lily screamed. "Head towards the light!" She was babbling now; her own words made no sense in her mind._

_The murderer smirked, lightly. "Don't deny your sins."_

"_I won't embrace them! I won't embrace you!"_

"_Pity." A crooked-half grin. The murderer pulled an orange prescription bottle out of her pocket. She dry-swallowed one of the little white capsules. Something different, something that didn't usually happen with these dreams. "You could have lived."  
_

"_You're not okay with it either. You didn't embrace it yourself!" _

_The murderer locked Lily in her bloody, icy gaze. "That's what you would like to believe."_

_"You can't judge me!" Lily screamed._

_"That's what you think," the murderer whispered. "We're not so different, after all."_

Lily woke, fighting back screams.

* * *

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell"

~Oscar Wilde~

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_Early April, 1975._

He backed into the bedframe, feeling it squeak in protest of his weight behind him, staring at the six females standing in front of him, all brandishing long, thin sticks that held ominous auras. _Witches, _he thought_._ He had never really believed in their existence, but now he had actual evidence standing before him. He crossed himself, feeling his hand go through the motions he hadn't made for so long. Yet none of them flinched; the one with blue eyes even snickered coldly, raising that long, thin stick of hers and pointing it right at him. He gasped. He'd never thought the sign of the cross would fail. He'd hadn't done it in so long, yeah, but he'd gone to church, sang during Mass, dropped a good percentage of his income on the plate, believed like a good Christian. How—why—had God abandoned him now?

The cold breeze that slipped in from the broken windows toyed with the hems of their long black gowns and their cloaks, spinning the cloaks back from their shoulders, so that they looked like a gathering of some sort of bird—vultures waiting for his death. A black-eyed one left her cruel face and raven hair uncovered, and the rest wore veils over the lower half of their faces and hoods over their hair, concealing them completely, other than their haunted, dull eyes. Five wore loose, long sleeved dresses too; the blue-eyed one wore a loose tunic over loose pants. Their garments hid their identities completely. The Queen could be standing among them, and he'd never know.

He looked from one face to another, trying to grab any amount of hope from those eyes. Any amount of humanity he could, perhaps, plead with. The black eyes held a sadistic joy, and more than a touch of insanity. He looked away as soon humanly possible. The blue ones were cold, but oddly lifeless, soul-dead, and reminded him of ashes, of fires snuffed out. Something in those cold eyes seemed predatory, however, and he shivered when she met his gaze. It was much like looking into the gaze of a lion or a tiger, knowing that the owner of the eyes would gladly destroy him for her survival. The green ones…

Were almost apologetic, as if she didn't want to be there. _Please, please, take mercy!_ he tried to plead with his eyes. She looked at him and he could tell she understood, but then she shook her head slightly and he knew she meant: _I'm sorry; there is nothing I can do_.

He looked over to the next face, one with stormy grey eyes that too were lifeless, but thankfully not predatory. Next one, brown eyes that lacked a sparkle or any other sign of life. The last woman had hazel eyes that seemed almost to pity him. _Please help!_ A small shake of the head was again his only answer.

_Please…_ he begged again. But the thought didn't go far before the black-eyed one screeched a word he'd never heard before. "Crucio!"

He felt as if red-hot thumbtacks were being pressed into his skin—at the same time the harsh syllables of that word bounced around in his head—at the same time he was being dunked into the Arctic Ocean—at the same time lava was flowing through his veins, burning, melting though each one of his cells, the neurons franticly begging help from a central nervous system that was quickly shutting down…This was hell. He knew it. He didn't know what he had done to deserve this—or actually, he did, he knew. But it had been so long ago, and he had repented so much. Why had God abandoned him? Why had God sentenced him to this? _Why am I in hell?_

He loved his wife, didn't he? Had a good nine-to-five job, three kids he was willing to take bullets for. He went to church, donated money every quarter, hadn't gotten arrested for twenty years now…hadn't done anything stupid for that long.

Unbidden, his eyes looked up, caught the eyes of the green-eyed woman. _I'm sorry_, those eyes were saying. _I wish I could help you, but I can't._

Suddenly, he felt a blaze of pain around his spinal cord and his legs collapsed, useless. He heard the word—non-word— 'Contrectare' penetrate his mind and he knew the blue-eyed one had said that word. Compared to the previous non-word, it seemed calmer, more merciful, but the air of cold darkness it carried could not be ignored. He turned his head, looked at those lifeless blue eyes, pleading, _Why, why?_

_I'm sorry. I have no choice_, the blue eyes replied. She stepped forward slightly, and he noticed she was limping, slightly favoring her left leg. She whispered something else and suddenly the pain died away, and his mind cleared slightly.

He thought of his wife, his daughters, and his son. They were in the next room, he knew. His gun was there, too, but a three-year-old son couldn't fire the gun, and he hadn't thought to teach his wife and teenage daughter.

Hadn't thought to…

So many things. He'd yelled at his teenage daughter, just yesterday, for wearing an inappropriate shirt. He hadn't known it at the time, but it would be the last things he'd ever say to her. The gun he'd brought for protection. He'd stored it in the closet, unloaded and clean, just like a responsible gunowner. It was absolutely useless to him, now. _You wouldn't be able to fire it anyway, _an unknown voice whispered in his ear. He had the strange feeling that the voice belonged to the girl with blue eyes. _You've never fired a gun before. You'd miss._

So many things…the tickets he'd bought for the football game this weekend. They had cost a whole week's salary. He'd planned to take his whole family—his toddler son, who'd just learned how to walk, his little daughter, who loved the game as much as he did, his rebellious older daughter—but now, facing his own death, he couldn't remember what had separated them so much—and his wife, who he loved more than he loved himself. Perhaps what he regretted most was not his own death, but the fact that he couldn't protect them…He knew once they were done with him, they'd go to the other room and finish his beloved family off. So many things. So many things that were left unsaid, so many things that were left undone…

"Crucio!" screamed the black-eyed one and his pain reappeared, surging through him, a tsunami roaring through his veins, waves pounding against his skull. He felt like he was caught in a million currents and riptides—and they were pulling him this way and that, bashing him against sharp rocks, squeezing the last gasps of air from his body. Collapsing, he swept his eyes across their faces. Green, hazel, grey, brown, black, blue…

Those blue eyes pitied him. She whispered the word again, "Contrectare," and this time he felt no pain, heard nothing but the merciful syllables whispering in his mind, simply saw a wash of red that faded into the darkness of death. He was falling away now, but slowly, numbly, as if his mind couldn't register what was happening.

And as reality faded, he heard a cold voice murmur, "Morsmordre" before a shrill scream—his wife's—registered in his failing consciousness.

* * *

_The complex is well defended…_

Lily had been working on the letter for a while now. She was actually quite surprised that the Watchers hadn't discovered it yet. But, then again, they had been leaving her—and her friends—alone for longer and longer periods of time now, giving Lily more time to think and write.

And write.

She had been forced to steal another sheet of parchment. She had covered both the front and back sides of the original sheet of parchment with miniscule writing detailing everything she knew about the complex, the Death Eaters, the hierarchy, the increasingly paranoid defense system. She'd actually been quite surprised when Morthia failed to notice yet another missing sheet of parchment. This time, the Watcher had even counted the entire stack twice, but still failed to notice any discrepancy.

Lily scanned through the entire letter, trying to figure out if she had left anything out. Morthia, Lestrange, Voldemort, the tower, the complex, the hierarchy, all the Death Eaters she could recognize. Everything, of course, but herself and her fellow prisoners.

_Am I evil? _

She didn't realize she'd added that question to the letter until after she finished writing it. She siphoned off the ink, of course, as soon as she realized what she had done. She didn't want to think about it. Hadn't thought about it. Kept it suppressed, somewhere, in the back of her mind, for maybe a year now…

She doesn't remember them, much, anymore. Their names she had never known; their faces blurred into each other one by one. She was thankful that she never had to participate, only watch. Lestrange always tortured the victim or victims of the week, and Morthia always finished them off. She'd really only been forced to participate once, but once was enough, and she doesn't want her mind to go there again. They were trying to break her through guilt, a guilt she _shouldn't _feel, because _they _had forced her to do so, and _she _had tried her best to resist them…

She still felt unclean, corrupted, _guilty_. The children were the worst to watch; she absolutely despised standing there, watching silently, as Lestrange and Morthia tormented the innocent. Their large pleading eyes, asking her to do _something _to get the out of the worst pain they ever felt. But there was absolutely nothing she could do. Any protest and she'd be the one cringing on the ground and whatever Muggle she'd tried to help would still be dead…

They had gotten back from the most recent murder less than two hours ago. A happy little suburban family: the parents, three kids. The youngest still a toddler. Five lives, cut short to fuel the antics of an insane Death Eater and an increasingly psychopathic Watcher. And she hadn't lifted a single finger to help them.

In a way, she was glad when Morthia stormed into the room, allowing the stairwell door to ricochet off the wall. The noise distracted her from her increasingly morbid thoughts.

She didn't like being alone with the Watcher. It was rather like being in the same room as a wild lioness, an unpredictable predator with no sense of right or wrong, just survival. It didn't help that the Watcher now towered over Lily, even without the help of heels, and somehow managed to _limp _with a feline grace. Thankfully, the Watcher didn't stay long. She just grabbed an unmarked bottle and a length of bandage out of a locked cabinet and stormed away, slamming the door shut behind her like a melodramatic teenager.

Only afterward did Lily realize the letter had been sitting on the desk, in open view. And that either the Watcher had failed to notice, or failed to care. Lily sincerely hoped it was the former. The later meant that the Watcher had some sort of scheme. As much as she despised the other girl, Lily could not deny that Morthia was extraordinarily intelligent and more cunning than most of the Slytherin house. Combined.

Still, Lily reasoned, either Morthia failed to notice the letter, or she was trying to get Lily to write a letter to Dumbledore. She couldn't seen how a letter to Dumbledore would benefit the Watcher, so she guessed the Watcher was in too much pain to pay much attention.

She took a long last look at the letter and then trifolded it, placing it into a Muggle envelope she'd found in a desk drawer a few weeks earlier. A simple Muggle-repelling charm, to keep the wizarding world separate from the Muggle one.

Lily was quite surprised to hear footsteps coming down the stairwell. She hastily stuck the envelope to the bottom of the desk again. She wasn't surprised to see Marlene open the door from the stairwell. Generally, when Morthia retreated to the rooftop with a handful of bandages and rubbing alcohol, she stayed for a while. And provoking an injured Watcher was about as wise as provoking an injured lioness. With cubs.

"Hey." Lily tried to act nonchalant. Not that Marlene would willingly betray the existence of the letter to the Watchers, but sometimes it was hard to control what leaked out under torture. Under the Cruciatus, Lily would have admitted to being a hermaphrodite if it got the pain to stop.

"How's your day?" she tried, cringing as she realized how stupid it sounded. _How's your day_? Really? She'd might as well asked about the weather.

"Fine," Marlene replied, stretching the meaning of the word from "It's sunny out and aren't the roses pretty and I don't have a worry in my life" to "Well, the hurricane took down the house, drowned my family, and swept my dog out to sea, but at least I'm still alive, amirite?" She looked blank, lifeless, but without the predatory look Morthia had—the predatory look that came from the psychopathy and millions of years of evolutionary history that allowed Lily to subconsciously realize the psychosomatic damage to her former friend's limbic system.

"They haven't gotten to you yet?" she asked.

Marlene sighed, looking left and right. "No," she finally admitted, with the smallest tremor that told Lily that the other girl wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or not.

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah." Marlene sunk down into the couch and rested her forehead on her hands. "I just want to go _home_."

The same old conversation. Never any easier. "So do I," Lily replied, knowing as she said the words that they wouldn't be enough, that they _couldn't _be enough, that nothing she said would _ever_ be enough.

"I used to hope that this was all one big nightmare." Marlene shook her head sadly. "Now I'm just hoping I went crazy."

For a time, Lily had hoped so too. After all, if she was crazy, none of this had actually happened. If it was all one sustained delusion, _they _would still be here, perhaps hovering over her bed in some hospital or another. It really was the best possible potential situation.

Lily knew that it wasn't a delusion. An entire year was a bit too long for a delusion. A hallucination couldn't trap her here, couldn't trap her in _hell _for so long.

"I've wondered…" Marlene was saying, "if it would be better if we…if I…you know….just…ended it."

_Ended it? _It took Lily a while to comprehend the words. She inhaled sharply. "You seriously mean..."

"I will keep them from harm and injustice," Marlene whispered.

"Hippocratic oath?"

Marlene nodded. "I don't...want...to cause harm." She sounded broken. Lily wondered what else the Watchers may have done recently.

"Que sera, sera, Marlene."

Both Lily and Marlene jumped at Morthia's voice. They hadn't noticed the Watcher's entry. For a girl with a limp, Morthia was a expert at avoiding notice. The Watcher slammed the door shut and limped across the room, her posture unusually stiff. She shut the bottle back into its cupboard; Lily noticed that Morthia's fingers were covered in some sort of yellowish-brown substance up to the first knuckle.

Lily translated for Marlene's sake. "What will be, will be," she whispered. Finding the courage, the strength somewhere in her battled soul, she continued, "It's not over, Marlene. Please don't admit defeat yet." She walked up to her friend and wrapped her arms around her. "We will get out of this."

"It's not over until it's over," Morthia added another clichéd platitude. "Just give me another month." She checked her watch, pulling out a water bottle from a cupboard under a bench. With a muffled curse, she got down to her knees and rooted around in the cupboard.

"Voldemort hasn't broken me yet," Lily reassured her friend. "I don't think he's gotten to you either. And..." she paused slightly, looking at Morthia, remembering the warning: _Not a word to anyone, especially not Voldemort. 'Cause he'll _kill_ me_. "And...I don't think he's gotten to Sy either."

Marlene followed Lily's gaze, towards the Watcher, who conveniently helped Lily prove her point by removing a blister pack of pills from the cupboard. Fourteen little blisters; half were already empty. Morthia popped another pill out and chased it down with a swig of water. Lily caught a symbol on the back of the blister pack: a oddly birdlike shape around a group of smaller symbols. She committed it to memory. If...no, when...she escaped, she'd ask somebody about it.

"He got to Sy," Marlene whispered. "I don't think we can deny that. But I don't think she's okay with it."

Sy locked the cupboard. "Don't give up hope." She walked over and placed her hand on Marlene's shoulder. Lily could feel the dark _presence _of the Watcher on her back. She protectively tightened her grip on Marlene. "Don't become me," the Watcher added, before turning, striding quickly across the room, through the doorway, letting the door slam shut behind her.

"It's not over, Marlene," Lily whispered into her friend's hair. "We still have a way out."

Marlene untangled herself from Lily's embrace and walked over to the nearest window. "Hopefully."

Lily thought about mentioning the letter, but decided against it.

* * *

**AN: **I don't even want to know how many times I've taken this down and revised this. I don't even want to promise that I can finish this, since I don't know if I can keep that promise. So I'll say this: I will _try _to finish this. I will try very hard to finish this.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, especially constructive criticism. I am always trying to improve my craft, and I'll try to respond asap.

This is still a WIP, so I do appreciate suggestions. I may not take them, but I do appreciate them. Especially since this story is, in part, a Lily/James romance and let's just say that romance is not my specialty.

As for the preview for the next part of the prologue: _The girl pulled a letter out from under her cloak. "Madame me told to you to deliver the letter," she said, proffering the aforementioned letter._


	2. Prologue Pt2: The Letter: James

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit  
**AN**: Devon's outfit was picked for reasons not related to mood or coolness factor. (Damn you, Mary Sues. If you didn't exist, I wouldn't even have to mention this, but...oh well.)

* * *

**Prologue: The Letter**

**Part 2: James**

* * *

"_There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin._" —Ron Weasley to Harry Potter.

* * *

_Mid-April, 1975. Hogsmeade_

"You are a Hogwarts student, no?" The girl asked in a heavy German accent.

"Yeah, so what?" Something didn't seem quite right to James Potter, so he carefully pulled his wand out of his pocket, in case he needed it. Slight movements told him that Moony, Sirius, and Peter were doing the same thing. One could never be too careful in a war-torn world.

The girl pulled a letter out from under her cloak. "Madame me told to you to deliver the letter," she said, proffering the aforementioned letter.

James unscrambled the girl's words. _Madame told me to deliver the letter to you_, he concluded, accepting the letter gingerly. It didn't seem cursed, and nothing happened when he touched it. He ran a magical scan on it; it seemed to harbor no spell other than a simple anti-Muggle charm. Still, a good Dark witch or wizard could have easily woven a curse in that would not trigger James' admittedly weak detection spell.

"For...Dum-bul-lee-dore?" the girl sounded out. "Or Mac-gone-a-gull? Deliver it to them, you will."

James stared at the girl suspiciously. She was obviously not a native; her English was absolutely horrible. He stared at her, not caring if he was being rude or if she thought he was hitting on her. It wasn't that he was interested; he needed to memorize as much as possible about her. _It's not paranoia if the danger is real_, James thought. _Perhaps Dumbledore will know if she is a spy of Voldemort's._

She had a fairly distinctive appearance, he thought. Dyed purple hair hung across her face. From her pale eyebrows, James could tell that her natural hair color was blonde. He wasn't sure if her paleness was real or the result of make up, but either way she looked like she had just stepped out of a grave. Her unnatural thinness accented the undead effect, as did the dramatic purple lipstick and the overdark eye makeup. A long-sleeved black shirt, chain-covered corset, short plaid skirt, voluminous black cloak, and oversized black boots completed the undead look.

"Your name?" he snapped, coldly.

The girl paused, chewing on her lower lip. "Devon," she finally admitted. "Madame Emma sent me."

James handed the letter to Sirius, who took it gingerly, an eyebrow raised. "I don't recognize any of those names," James muttered, "You know who 'Devon' or this 'Mada—"

"It's from Lily," Sirius interrupted. He had opened the letter and was now reading it.

"What?" James gasped, snatching the letter out of Sirius's hand.

He could not mistake the neat handwriting. "Oh Merlin," he gasped. "She's alive." He felt his eyes widen and thought his breathing had accelerated to a rate that bordered on hyperventilation. _Lily was alive! _He didn't know what he was feeling exactly...hope, or guilt? He had assumed that she had died for more than a year now, and now he definitely felt guilty for giving up on her. _We should have tried something_, he thought, although he knew that there was nothing he or anyone else could have done.

"What?" Remus asked, grabbing the last page of the letter. "It's from Lawson," he said, confused.

James snatched the page back. "What the heck?" he asked, looking at the page. "No, this is Lily—" James waved the first two pages of the letter under Moony's nose "—and _this_ is Lawson," he said, gesturing with the last page of the letter. He took a look at Lawson's letter. "Oh Merlin," he cursed.

"What?" Wormtail joined in, and for a minute James thought Sirius was going to chime in with a "What?" as well, just to balance things out.

James pointed at the bottom of Lawson's letter. "It's not signed '_Syvanna Lawson_'. It's signed '_Syvanna Morthia, née Lawson_'."

Sirius snatched Lily's letter from James. "Fuck," he muttered. "_If you see Syvanna Lawson, capture her. If that's not possible, kill her on the spot,_" he read out loud. "What the hell. Does. This. Mean?"

Remus looked around. "You know, guys, we probably shouldn't be discussing this here," he whispered.

"Yeah," Devon chipped in, to James's surprise. He had forgotten that she was still standing there. "Private walk is best. That way, less chance of eavesdroppers." She flipped her purple hair out of her eyes, smiling vacantly, giggling slightly.

"Well, _somebody _has been reading _way _too many trashy spy novels," Sirius muttered darkly.

* * *

They left Hogsmeade and returned to Hogwarts. Two years ago, they would have simply hidden in one of the castle's many hidden passageways, to keep away from prying eyes. Now, well, after Death Eaters had managed to invade the castle and capture five students, Hogwarts didn't seem quite so safe anymore.

_Oh, Merlin_. As if James could ever forget what had happened, that night, one and a half years ago.

* * *

_October 31st, 1973._

"_Seriously, Sirius—oh, Merlin, give that stupid joke up! How do you think you're going to get good grades if you absolutely refuse to do any studying or homework!" Remus ran his fingers through his hair. "I do _not _want you to fail out!" he said, emphasizing each word with a wave of his quill. Ink splattered from the end of the quill and landed on Remus's planner._

"_Come _on_, Remus, don't be such a flobberworm!" Sirius taunted. _

"_Seriously—oh, stop laughing, Sirius! The joke's old by now! We have a _test _tomorrow, and Professor McGonagall isn't going to tweak grades to help us!" Remus looked down on his planner and cursed, siphoning off the ink._

"_Remus is a flobberworm, Remus is a flobberworm," Sirius sing-songed. _

"_Oh shut up!" Remus placed his hands over his ears in a gesture that was obviously meant to be theatrical._

"_Remus is a flobberworm, Remus is a flobberworm." James joined in._

"_Leave me alone! Fine, if you guys refuse to study and thus fail out, it won't be _my _problem!" Remus snapped, slamming shut his planner and resolutely sitting down. He opened his _History of Magic _textbook to an arbitrary page and began to read._

"_Remus is a flobberworm, Remus is a flobberworm..."_

"_You. Guys. Get. Out. Of. Here! I'm _trying _to study!" Remus flipped a page, loudly._

"_Remus is a flobberworm, Remus is a flobberworm..." Now Peter had jointed in with the singing as well._

"_Oh, fine," Remus muttered, slamming his book shut and shoving his stuff into his bag. "And for the record, I'm only going along with this to keep you three out of trouble!"_

_James smirked. "Like you could ever keep us out of trouble, Moony."_

_Remus spluttered."Oh, why do I always get pulled into these things?" he asked the ceiling._

"_One for all, and all for one, right? We're the Marauders. We always stick together," James answered, pulling his invisibility cloak out of his trunk. _

"_First of all, I'm pretty sure you mean the _Three Musketeers_, and I would like to remind you that we are not musketeers." Remus glared at the invisibility cloak. "We are students, who have tests. Very Important Tests."_

_James was already pulling the invisibility cloak over their head, however, and the four boys gathered together underneath it. They were so close together that Remus hovered right above James' left ear and Peter (whose height forced him to be in front, so he could somewhat see where he as going) was practically squished between James and Sirus. It would have been extremely awkward if they hadn't done this so many times before. _

_As it was, it was still quite awkward. Sirius, who somehow managed to shoot up nearly two inches during the summer, was not yet in complete control of his coordination. As a result, he kept on treading on Peter's robes, or Remus's feet, once tripping Remus, which nearly sent the tetrad down a flight of stairs. Thankfully, James and Sirius managed to grab opposite handrails, Peter managed to hold onto the front of James' robes, and Remus fell onto Sirius. An arm or a foot may have poked out of the invisibility cloak, but as there did not appear to be anyone around, it didn't matter._

"_So, does anyone have any clue where we're going?" Remus asked, after about thirty minutes of random wandering._

"_Nope," Sirius replied, all too cheerily. "Just felt like walking."_

"_This is insanity," Remus muttered darkly._

"_This is stupid," James complained._

"_I'm glad at least _someone _agrees with me, this time," Remus said._

_Sirius shrugged and stepped on the hem of Peter's robes again. "Sorry, mate," he said as he grabbed onto Peter's shoulder, preventing him from falling over._

"_What's that?" Remus asked. He stopped, suddenly; James felt a quick burst of air at his ankles where the cloak got pulled off the ground._

"_What?" James looked around, Peter placed a hand to his ear, and Sirius sniffed the air. "I don't see anything," James muttered. "There's a statue of armor over there, however. Perhaps that's what you saw."_

"_Footsteps." Remus dragged his friends towards the nearest alcove. "Close too. Probably Prefects. Oh, why the hell did I let you drag me out of the Common Room?"_

_Sure enough, James could hear the tap-tap-tap of footsteps emerge from their left. There was definitely more than one person; although how many more, he didn't know. Not more than half a dozen, though._

"_Fuck it," someone was murmuring. "I didn't think it would be so late." Not Prefects, then. James could feel Remus exhale and relax slightly._

"_Sy!" another voice exclaimed, scandalized._

"_What, it's a word," Syvanna Lawson spat. "Part of the English language, meant to be used...Stop," she ordered suddenly._

_The footsteps continued._

"_No, seriously. Stop." _

_Lily rounded the corner, closely followed by Alice. "We need to get back to the tower, _now_. It's past curfew. I don't want to run into a Prefect."_

"_Don't move," Lawson ordered, her voice colder than ice. She rounded the corner running, Marlene and Dorcas on her heels._

"_Come on, Sy, you're being paranoid again," Lily complained, picking up her pace, tucking a strand of her glorious hair behind her ear._

"_We're running into a trap!" Lawson had drawn her wand and was gesturing with it. Sparks flew from the end._

"_No, seriously, Sy, you are being paranoid."_

"_There. Is. Something. Dark. Right. There," Lawson declared, pointing her wand at the alcove where the Marauders were hiding. James felt his heart jump up into his throat; how did she know, how could she know? _Wait a second, she said something dark_, he thought_. Maybe it's just the alcove? _he hoped_. Yes, an excellent thing to hope, that you're hiding from the Love Of Your Life in a Dark Alcove, _James thought sarcastically._

"_Sy, you say that at least once a week." Lily sighed, turning around to face her (then) friend. "This is Hogwarts. How could anything Dark get past the wards?"_

"_Something did," Lawson spat. "We can't just assume that no one—"_

"_The Hogwarts wards are over a thousand years old—"_

"_And therefore so much the weaker. It doesn't take a thousand years to find cracks in a wall..."_

"—_and they've never been broken...God. Turn around." Lily paled, and she drew her wand._

_Lawson complied. "Fuck."_

_James craned his head as far out of the alcove as possible, in an attempt to see whatever was going on. His attempts were thwarted by Peter, who was attempting to push the group as far into the alcove as possible. He shoved Peter lightly, and Peter stumbled. Sirius grabbed Peter, preventing him from falling forward. "What the hell are you _doing_?" he hissed. "Are you _trying _to get us killed?"_

"_What's that?" a voice snapped—James thought it may have been Marlene, but he wasn't sure._

"_It's...not...dangerous," Lawson muttered. "It's dark, but...not a threat. The threat is...over there."_

_James could feel something cold to his left, something Dark. The Dark _presence _threatened to overwhelm him, and James felt a sudden urge to throw up. This was a strong one, he thought. Even the Black family house had not provoked such a strong reaction from him. There had to be multiple Dark witches and wizards. At least a dozen. James thought he saw the flames of the candles flicker slightly as the dark vortex expanded._

"_Could be worse," a voice (Lawson?) muttered darkly. "At least they're not behind us."_

"_I'll hold them off while one of you guys go get Dumbledore," Lily said, grimly. James felt his heart drop. There was no way...absolutely no way...that Lily alone could stand up to that...darkness. She was going to her doom...willingly, and he felt the sudden urge to jump out in front of her. The nausea picked that moment to rise up again, unfortunately, and James was forced to conclude that if he did jump out, he wouldn't be much help unless he managed to blind the Dark wizard by throwing up.  
_

"_No, I'll hold them off while the four of you get out of the way," Lawson replied, and James silently urged Lily to take the option, although he knew that Lily's pride and loyalty would not let her. "They breached the wards. Dumbledore should already know by now," Lawson continued._

_A red beam of light streaked down the hallway. One of the candles went out._

"_Stunning spells," Lily declared. "They don't want to kill us."_

"_They're trying to capture us." _

"_Thank you for declaring the obvious, Marlene," Lawson snapped. "Leave, save yourselves. I'll hold them off for as long as possible."_

"_We can't let you face them alone," Lily replied. James groaned quietly. He loved her for those characteristics, but right now, he thought that she should simply save herself. He didn't want her to get captured...or worse, die._

"_We. Can't. Defeat. Them. Whoever stays behind will be captured...or killed," Lawson muttered darkly. "Makes sense to sacrifice the weakest of the pack. Plus—" Lawson dodged another stunner. "I have the best chance at escaping."_

"_No," Lily insisted. "We fight together, we will go down together." She gracefully dodged a stunning spell, her hair flying out behind her. "We can do this, right?"_

"_Ditch your Gryffindor bravery and grow a sense of self-preservation." Lawson did not sound impressed. "Run before it's too late." She raised her wand, casting a stunning spell of her own. "Save yourselves."_

"_No."_

"_Pity. You could have lived," Lawson spat. "Alice, Dorcas, Marlene, be smart and scat before the Death Eaters get here."_

"_Too late for that," a cold voice declared._

"_Bellatrix!" Sirius whispered. "What is she doing here?" He shrank even further back into the alcove, causing Remus to squeak in protest. Thankfully, between the Stunning spells and the Dark wizards, the squeak wasn't noticed.  
_

"_Spread out," Lily ordered. "Don't let them get behind us, but maintain enough room to maneuver."_

_The other four followed her instructions silently._

"_On three. One!"_

_Marlene, Alice, Dorcas and Lily fired hexes. Lawson chucked her wand away from her._

"_What was that for, Sy?" Lily asked._

_Lawson ignored her and stepped forward. "Take me, and leave them! I am the only one you can break!" she shouted. The stunner caught her in the chest; she crumpled._

_Bellatrix laughed._

"_Oh, God." Lily was muttering something under her breath; James could not catch what it was. He wanted to jump out of the alcove and help, but Peter blocked his way. He gave Peter a small shove, but Peter simply shoved the group deeper into the alcove. James's nausea was clearing away now, as his magical core got used to the presence of the Dark vortex.  
_

"_You'd only get yourself captured as well," Peter muttered._

_James cursed, but he remained where he was. He regretted that, later, of course, but Peter was right. The vortex was strong; extraordinarily so. There was absolutely nothing he could do.  
_

"_Resistance is futile." Bellatrix laughed, and the hairs on the back of James' neck stood up. So much pure evil in that voice, so much dangerous insanity._

"_That's cliché," Lily remarked, a façade of cool calmness hiding her true emotions. She stepped over Lawson's unconscious form. "We won't go down without a fight."_

What the hell are you thinking, Lily? _James thought_. Why didn't you just leave...that...traitor? _He wished that Lily would come to her senses and abandon Lawson. After all, Lawson had willingly surrendered to the Death Eaters._

_Stunning spells lit up the hallway, bathing it in an ominous red light. _Like blood, really, _James thought. Such a banal thought. He saw Lily fall, felt Sirius's hand across his mouth, muffling any sound he could had made._

_Oh, Merlin. James briefly considered biting on Sirius's hand. He gripped his wand tightly._

_Lily got to her feet again; she hadn't been stunned—she had just been ducking._

_Thank Merlin. James wondered if he could stun one or more of the Death Eaters without giving away his location. He cursed himself for not learning about invisible spells before, despite the fact that they were well beyond the NEWT level. If only he could do something...something that had the potential of actually helping, he amended._

_Dorcas and Marlene were down too, now; only Lily and Alice remained against the Death Eaters._

_James turned his head away. He knew that the two girls were no match for the Death Eaters. He didn't want to see Lily fall._

* * *

"That fucking traitor," Sirius cursed. "Third-in-fucking-command, after _Bellatrix_? She didn't do that in less than two years." Sirius flipped over the first page of Lily's letter. "Merlin..." he breathed. "I can't believe this."

They were in the Room of Requirement, the only room in the entire school that the Marauders still felt was safe. The room had conveniently provided comfortable chairs that looked suspiciously like the ones in the Gryffindor tower, aromatic coffee, biscuits, and a few small cakes for good measure. The fireplace managed to bathe the entire room in a warm, reddish light that somehow managed to contain a completely different feeling than the dismal reds of the stunning spells. A pair of bright lamps illuminated the letters.

Sirius had the first page of Lily's letter, and James the second, although it was questionable if James was actually reading the letter. He kept running his fingers over Lily's signature, as if he was trying to reassure himself that the letter was real. Remus was looking over Lawson's—no, _Morthia's _letter, and Peter was sampling one of the biscuits.

"I don't recognize half of these names," Sirius muttered, pointing at the hierarchy Lily had sketched. "Watchers? Who the hell thought that was a good last name?"

"Not a last name," James muttered darkly, reading the second page of the letter: _"I call them Watchers; yes, I know it's a stupid nickname, but since it's likely that no one but me will ever see this, that doesn't matter. There's five of them; Morthia and four others. I don't know the others' names. I wish I did; they are as evil as their leader."_

"Merlin." Remus looked up from Morthia's letter. "I had no clue...that a _Gryffindor _could...you know." He proffered Morthia's letter. "She doesn't deny it. '_I know you don't trust me; I wouldn't trust me,'" _he read. "'_I admit I have committed crimes that would make others consider me a pillager, a thief, an arsonist, a torturer, and a murderer. I know I am beyond redemption.' _ There is no way someone changed so much in two years."

"'_Take me, and leave them! I am the only one you can break!'" _Peter quoted. "It wasn't just the last two years." He took a bite of the biscuit he was holding and mumbled around it, "These aren't bad."

James ran his fingers through his hair, absentmindedly. "Merlin...I can't believe...that...it was _Lawson_ behind all of this," he muttered, picking up a nearby object and nibbling on the end. He spat it out when he realized that he was nibbling on the end of a quill instead of on a biscuit. "Merlin."

"How did Dumbledore not...realize?" Remus asked. "For the matter, how did the Sorting Hat fail to realize..."

_I am beyond redemption_, Morthia had written. James wondered how _everyone _had miss the vortex of evil in their midst. He had felt the Dark auras of the Death Eaters when they had...kidnapped...Lily, but he couldn't remember Lawson having one. Perhaps it was because of her youth and inexperience, combined perhaps with a relative lack of magical power, that prevented Lawson from having a detectable aura.

Yet shouldn't the teachers...and Dumbledore...have known? James had always had the feeling that Dumbledore knew all, much like the various renditions of supernatural deities. Those twinkling-but-piercing blue eyes could penetrate any defense, any lie, James thought. He could never lie successfully to Dumbledore in the same way that he could never lie successfully to his own mother. Somehow, they _knew _the truth even when they shouldn't have been able to _know_.

And the Sorting Hat! His father had told him that the Sorting Hat was capable of delving into every part of someone's mind, knowing and analyzing details that even the person didn't know about. How could the Sorting Hat miss something? _Ditch your Gryffindor bravery and grow a sense of self-preservation, _Lawson had said. Why did the Hat place...that _traitor_...in Gryffindor and not in the House of Evil, Slytherin?

"James?" Sirius shoved James so hard that James nearly toppled out of his armchair. "James?" Sirius asked again, his voice tinged with concern. "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah," James responded automatically. He realized that he was running his hands through his hair in the way that made people wonder if he had lice. He forcibly removed his hands from his hair and, to give them something to do, picked up a biscuit and took a bite. It was rather dry, he thought, but not bad. His empty hand toyed with the hem of his sleeve. "Sorry. Blanked out for a while. Was thinking."

"Lost in unfamiliar territory?" Remus joked. He looked at the letter in his hand and quickly sobered. "Merlin. I can't believe..."

_It's like shock, almost_, James thought. _It hasn't really sunk in yet that they were alive, they might still be alive_.

Lily had written: _I don't know if we'll ever get out of here; maybe it would be a good idea to limit the damage we can cause before it is too late. No, scratch that, we are too late, way too late, but maybe we can redeem ourselves._

Morthia had written: _I am beyond redemption_, but she had also written: _I can never return to the castle, but I believe that, one day, they can be free again. I alone am guilty, I alone am tainted. _She had added, perhaps the most tantalizing words in her entire letter: _Abbey of Saint-Savin sur Gartempe. May 17__th__, 10PM. Bring as many people as possible. We may have a way._

"It's probably a trap," Remus had declared, when he read that line.

"Yeah," James had agreed.

Now, however, he wondered if it could be worth the risk. "What if it isn't a trap? What if Law...sorry, _Morthia_, is trying to be...helpful?" _Don't hope_, he thought. Having his hopes crushed a second time...Merlin, he didn't know if he could take it.

Sirius scoffed. "She's a self-admitted...thief, arsonist, murderer...and I'm forgetting one...oh, yeah, pillager. And she doesn't seem to care. I don't think she has a conscience whatsoever."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe they are in her way," he offered. "I mean, she obviously didn't mean for all of them to be captured." He took a bite of the biscuit, chewed, swallowed. "Either that, or she's not that smart."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked. A quill, an inkwell, and a blank sheet of parchment appeared on the table. Remus picked up the quill and the parchment and began taking notes.

Peter shrugged. "Assume you were a traitor, and you wanted to sell yourself and your friends to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What would you do?"

"Let the Death Eaters into the castle, of course," James snapped. "Isn't that obvious?"

"But when?" Peter asked. "At noon, to make a big scene, maybe. Late at night, when everyone's defenses are down, which poses the least risk to the Death Eaters. But late evening, when the Prefects are making their rounds, and when the teachers are still up and about? The time of the highest risk but the lowest reward?"

_That made sense_, James thought. "So, why did the Death Eaters arrive then?" he asked.

"To give themselves enough time to break in and leave before dawn." Peter shrugged. "Only it took less time than what they expected. Listen," he said, leaning forward over the table. "If it was truly Lawson behind the kidnapping, it would have been much more discrete. Lawson never attacked anyone directly."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Lawson never attacked anyone, period."

"Exactly," Peter said. "However, did you not notice that anyone who crossed her would get sick...really sick...a couple of weeks later?"

"You seriously think...oh." Sirius bit his lower lip. "Oh."

"The flu?" James asked, grimacing slightly. He remembered the unpleasant feeling of coughing until his throat felt like someone had attacked it with sandpaper.

"If it was really a flu," Peter replied.

"You think that was Lawson?" Remus asked.

"No one else had a motive...or the background," Peter said. "But, anyway, this is all completely irrelevant."

James jumped, almost guiltily. "Right," he said. He had almost forgotten the more pressing business: the whole _Lily may still be alive_, and _there may be a way to rescue her _part. "Abbey of Saint-Savin sur Gartempe? That's in France."

"Well, no duh, James. It has a French name," Sirius drawled.

"There are other countries that speak French, Sirius," Remus pointed out. "Haiti, Canada..."

"The French speak French, Remus."

"So do other people, Sirius," James said.

"Martinque, Guadoulpe, Switzerland..."

"Lily spoke French, right, James?" Peter asked.

James shrugged. "I think so." He was pretty sure that she did.

"Algeria, Cambodia, Benin..."

"Shut up, you've made your point, Remus." Sirius snapped.

Remus ignored him. "Madagascar, Luxembourg, Ivory Coast..."

"Can we ignore the atlas here and get back to the real point of discussion?" James asked.

"Yeah, _shut up_, atlas," Sirius said.

Remus complied. "We could consult Dumbledore, you know, since...what's-her-name said it was for him anyway."

"Devon," Sirius said. "What kind of strange name is that, anyway?"

"An alias?" Peter asked.

James shrugged. "Probably. She didn't want to give her name." He shrugged again, saying, "Not that I'd blame her. Would you give your name to strangers, nowadays?"

"Would you accept random envelopes from strange and unknown people?" Peter asked. "Or would you do the smart thing and be more careful?"

"Hey! Nothing happened!" Sirius protested.

"Yes. _This time_."

"Peter is right," Remus said. "It could have contained all sorts of things. Arsenic, hemlock..."

"Oh, dear, not another list," Sirius moaned. "We get it. You know all."

Remus glared at Sirius; James ran his hands through his hair. "Guys," he said. "Maybe we should ask Dumbledore?"

Sirius glanced at James suspiciously; Remus nodded eagerly. "As I suggested earlier," he said, folding his notes into his bag and standing up.

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore?" James asked. "Is there a chance...that...you know..."

"That Lily is still alive?" Professor Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "It's highly likely." The professor looked down at the envelope in his hand, staring at it intently. "It's not Arabic," he muttered quietly.

"What's not Arabic?" James asked.

"This." Dumbledore pointed out two small lines of writing on the back of the envelope; James had not noticed it before. The cursive letters sure looked like Arabic to him.

"What does that say?" James asked.

Dumbledore pulled out a quill and some parchment. "It's in code," he replied, writing the message on the parchment.

_Dvn,_

_Tk ths t Hgwrts; gv t Prf Dumbldor r Prf McGonagall. 'M stll alv; dn't wrry bt m. Lmst thr. Lmst dn._

_M._

"What the hell?" James asked.

Remus stared at it. "Arabic doesn't usually write vowels," he commented. "It's been de-voweled."

"What?" Sirius asked.

"Well, _Dvn _probably stands for Devon; _M. _may be an abbreviation for 'Madame' or the first syllable of 'Emma'," Remus pointed out. "It's a normal message, except for the fact that nearly all the vowels have been removed."

Peter took a look at the parchment. "_Take this to Hogwarts_," he read. "_G...give...to? _Probably_. Prof...professor! Dumbledore, _obviously_, or Professor McGonagall._ Not exactly the greatest code in the world," he muttered. "But then again, it's short and none of us knew Arabic."

"_I'm_?" James guessed. "_stall..._no_, still al...alive?_"

Sirius stared at the parchment. "_Don't worry...about, _probably_, me. _What's '_Lmst_'?" he asked.

"_Almost_," Dumbledore said. "_Almost there. Almost done_. Lawson didn't mean for us to read that."

"Lawson?" James asked. "You think _Lawson_ is Madame Emma?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Her chosen last name was 'Morthia'," he explained. "And she was the only one of the five who knew Arabic."

_Lawson knew Arabic? _James thought. _Since when_? "So, Professor," he asked. "Do you think...it's real? That she's sincere?"

"It's possible," Dumbledore replied. "It's also possible that she considers them a threat to herself."

"Lily wouldn't—" James gasped, just as Sirius said, "No way could four girls pose a threat to—"

"It's what they know," Dumbledore explained. "Lawson changed her name. That's the first step to erasing her past." Dumbledore stood up, pulling a small silver instrument from his bookshelf. Delicate silver tendrils crawled up to surround a single diamond, suspending it within a cage of silver filaments. "Dark wizards and witches thrive when others fear them, and there is nothing more terrifying than not knowing." A small flame appeared in the diamond; Dumbledore studied it intently. "Interesting," he muttered.

"Professor?" Peter asked. "May I ask why you use Morthia's given name, not her chosen one?"

"Lawson chose the name because it would inspire fear," Dumbledore explained. "Voldemort prefers to be called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because the unknown is feared." The flame in the diamond turned a deep red. "Even more interesting," Dumbledore muttered, before continuing. "_Lord Morte _is a common character in children's stories, no?"

"Death?" James asked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, as the flame in the gemstone suddenly turned black. "_Thia _is a suffix meaning 'son' or 'heir'. _Morte _plus _thia _shortens down to _Morthia_."

"She descends from Death?" Sirius asked.

"Not literally, no," Dumbledore explained. "Lawson is trying to set herself up as the second _Lord Morte_. She wants people to believe that she has control over life and death." The flame in the diamond faded, and Dumbledore replaced the instrument on his shelf. "Her former friends are the only ones who know about her previous humanity; thus, she wants to destroy them. It is possible that she cannot overtly murder them because Lord Voldemort would not allow it; thus, she may be attempting to set up a situation where they can escape."

"So she can kill them when they try?" James muttered darkly. Lily was still alive, he thought. He did not want her to die now, right when he just got used to the idea that she was still alive, that hope still existed and that maybe, one day, she could return (to him) and live (with him) and love (hopefully him), again. He remembered the fire in her hair and in her eyes, the lilting tone of her voice as she yelled at him for setting off fireworks in the Common Room yet again, not knowing that he had set off those fireworks _just _so he could see her, talk to her, try to get her to love him. He supposed he used to be a bit of a juvenile idiot.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Why would Lord Voldemort oppose..._murder_?"

"Insurance, perhaps," Dumbledore replied. "It is not uncommon for Dark wizards and witches to mistrust each other; after all, most Dark wizards and witches are motivated by greed or other selfish factors. They do not know loyalty; nor do they know true sacrifice. They are capable of turning upon allies, friends, or even family members in a heartbeat if it may profit them to do so. They are ambitious and cunning, a very dangerous combination."

"_Bring as many people as possible_," Peter quoted. "Why?"

"So she could claim self-defense," James spat acidly. He remembered how Lily had looked when she had collapsed to the ground, ducking from those red Stunning spells. In his mind, he replaced the Stunning spells with the green _Avada Kevadra_'s. He envisioned Lily, ducking from the spells, staring open-eyed and blankly when one of them finally caught her in the chest, and he suppressed a shudder. _Merlin, don't die now, _he begged. _Not when we just recovered hope_.

"Wouldn't be able to," Peter said. "Our side uses nothing but Stunning spells. Which, incidentally, work better on escaping captives than does the Killing Curse."

"Makes sense," Dumbledore mused. "Perhaps Lawson cannot rationalize killing someone she knows, and thus she would set up a circumstance where they could escape."

"Let's go," Sirius insisted. "Easiest way to solve this mystery is to spring the trap."

Remus opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it, clearing his throat. Peter bit a thumbnail and muttered something. James sat up eagerly, ready and willing to run out of Dumbledore's office to find this Abbey and hopefully save the girl he had loved for as long as he remembered.

And Dumbledore nodded his head grimly. "It will be dangerous, but it is the only thing we can do. I would recommend you read up on as many defensive and dueling spells as possible."

"Wait, we're coming?" Peter squeaked.

"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "Now scat," he said, his eyes holding a mimicry of their usual twinkle.

As James turned to leave, he saw Dumbledore turn to consult the portraits behind his desk.

* * *

4:518-520

___do they only stand,  
By ignorance, is that their happy state,  
____The proof of their obedience and their faith?_

(**John Milton,** _Par__adise Lost_).

* * *

**AN: **

I'd like to point out that Devon speaks in a German accent, but uses French grammar. The discrepancy may be important.

There may be a small delay in the posting of the first chapter; I have finals coming up. (Yikes).

And thank you so much, **Jack'N'SallyGal** and **MoonFlower**, for reviewing. (And thank you, **Jack'N'SallyGal**, for pointing out the major plot hole. I've tried to patch it as best as possible.)


End file.
